


It Was an Accident

by Nkala99



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hints of abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nkala99/pseuds/Nkala99
Summary: Sam insists it was just an accident.  Toby doesn’t believe him.  Josh knows better.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I played around with this idea back when I wrote Fathers. Though there is no abuse that takes place during this story, it is heavily implied. Mind the tags, know your triggers.

The first day slipped by with no one the wiser.

The second day was a close call. A hastily concealed wince, noticed only by Toby during a meeting, was the only evidence that something might be wrong. Sam was careful to cover any and all signs the rest of the day.

The third day was when it all came crashing down. When Sam reflected on the events days later, he realized that he should have known Josh’s involvement would herald the end of his carefully constructed ruse.

* * *

Sam kept his head down, chin tucked close to his chest as he walked quickly through the mostly-deserted hallways of the White House. He didn’t have any meetings scheduled for that day, so if he could just make it to his office without being spotted, he could avoid the inevitable awkward conversations.

“Sam!”

Sam couldn’t hide the sharp flinch at his best friend’s call. Not looking up, he called back, “Sorry, Josh. No time to talk. Lots to do today.”

Josh fell into step beside him as he walked. “No problem. This won’t take long, and I’m due on the Hill in a bit. I need to pick your brain about the biofuel bill.”

Sam lifted his chin and turned his head slightly away from Josh. “Congressman Harris’ thing? What about it?”

“The way it’s written, it’s pretty much a pork project,” Josh stated. “But it’s got some momentum with a few environmental groups, and I think, with a few modifications, it could be a good move for the whole country and not just Nebraska. How open do you think Harris might be to something like that?”

“I think that, if you keep the original intent of the bill as much as possible, you’d have a chance,” Sam offered. “Harris is hard-nosed and stubborn, but not unreasonable.”

Josh snorted and glanced over at Sam. “You’re only saying that because . . .” His voice trailed off.

Before Sam had the chance to wonder about Josh’s sudden silence, a hand gripped his arm, bringing him to a halt just feet away from the sanctuary of his office. Josh pulled Sam closer, turning the younger man to face him fully.

“Sam?” came Josh’s quiet voice. “Why is there a bruise on your face?”

Sam winced, craning his neck further to hide said bruise. A strong grip on his chin stopped the movement, forcing him to turn back to face Josh.

Josh’s eyes were glittering with a growing anger. “Sam?” he said expectantly.

“It’s not what you think,” Sam blurted. “It was an accident.”

His words seemed to fuel the fire burning in Josh rather than douse it. “An accident, huh? Like it was an accident the  _ last  _ time he came to visit you?”

Sam pulled out of Josh’s tightening grip and took a step back. “It  _ was _ an accident last time.”

Josh would not be deterred. “I  _ told _ you what would happen if he did this again! Didn’t I?”

“You’re making something out of nothing, Josh,” Sam insisted.

“Nothing? Nothing?” Josh waved his hands wildly, color flooding his cheeks. “How can you say that? Half of your face is purple!” 

“So’s yours!” Sam yelled back. “Calm down before you stroke out! I’m fine!”

“You two couldn’t find a better place to have this little domestic squabble?” Toby’s voice cut in as the man himself walked around them, briefcase in hand. He tossed a glance at the two men, then did a double take upon seeing the darkening bruise on Sam’s face. He abruptly stopped and turned to approach Sam. “What the hell is this?”

“ _ Nothing _ ,” Sam insisted.

“Sam!” Josh barked.

Sam ignored him. “It was an accident. You know how clumsy I can be.”

Toby narrowed his eyes. “My office,” he ordered. His gaze shifted to Josh. “ _ Both _ of you.”

He turned and headed into his office, not bothering to check that he was being obeyed. Sam tossed an annoyed glare at Josh, who returned it with an unrepentant scowl, then followed Toby into his office.

Josh had barely closed the door behind them when Toby folded his arms and demanded, “Explain.”

“ _ Nothing happened _ ,” Sam stated emphatically.

Toby looked at Josh.

Josh appeared to be on the verge of an explosion. “Go on, Sam,” he ordered. “Explain it to Toby how your father smacking you around is an  _ accident _ .”

“Josh!” Sam snapped.

“Your  _ father _ did that to you?” Toby echoed, his tone dropping into a threatening rumble.

“It was an  _ accident _ !” Sam insisted. “We were talking! Things got a little heated, and I fell. That’s it.”

“You fell, huh?” Toby asked, holding up a hand to stop Josh’s impending rant.

“Yes,” Sam replied.

“I see.” Toby took a step forward, holding Sam’s gaze. “Tell me something, Sam; was that fall before or  _ after _ your father punched you?”

Sam reared back, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “I-  _ what _ ?”

“See, the problem with your story is that falling doesn’t quite explain why I  _ can see the indent of a ring on your face _ !” Toby yelled, his voice raising with each word.

Sam’s hand flew up to his injured cheek.

Toby looked at Josh. “This happened before?”

Josh nodded. “The last time his father came to visit, Sam ended up with a sprained wrist. Time before that, busted nose.”

“And you didn’t think to  _ tell anyone _ ?” Toby yelled.

“ _ Hey _ !” Sam cut in. “ _ Both _ of you, take it easy! It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be!”

“Says the man with the black eye and bruised cheekbone,” Josh snarked. He turned back to Toby. “I’ve  _ tried _ to get him to report it. Problem is, he really  _ does _ think it’s an accident.”

“It  _ is _ !” Sam insisted.

“He won’t press charges, so there’s nothing I can do about having him arrested,” Josh continued, ignoring Sam’s claim. He turned back to Sam. “Although I  _ did _ tell Sam that the next time his father used him as a punching bag, I’d order the secret service to pay him a visit and make it perfectly clear that we take assault very seriously.”

“You can’t  _ actually _ do that,” Sam pointed out.

“Watch me,” Josh shot back.

“Sam,” Toby said quietly.

Sam looked at him. “Toby,  _ please _ . It’s not like that.”

“Where else are you hurt?” Toby asked.

Sam hesitated at the unexpected question. “Wh-what?”

“You were hurt yesterday, in the meeting,” Toby said. “I saw you. Where else are you hurt?”

Sam clenched his jaw and turned his head, unwilling to continue the discussion.

“Okay,” Toby decided. “Josh, get Sam to the medical unit. They’ll want to take pictures and document everything. I’ll go have a word with Agent Butterfield.”

Sam’s head whipped back around. “No!” he cried. “Toby, I’m fine!”

“Then you won’t mind if the doctor takes a look at you,” Toby replied calmly.

“Sam,” Josh spoke up. “Just . . . think of this; if you’re  _ really _ fine, then why are you trying so hard to keep it quiet? You never have a problem admitting when you hurt yourself.”

“You’re acting like my dad beats me or something,” Sam said wearily. “It’s not like that.”

“Sam, I can practically read what school he went to on your cheek,” Toby pointed out. “He might not have taken you to the cleaners, but I can’t think of a single situation where it’s considered okay to punch your kid, even once.”

Sam didn’t have an answer for that.

“Go with Josh,” Toby ordered, gentling his tone. “Whatever else happens, we need to make sure that you’re okay.”

Josh gently took Sam’s elbow. When Sam didn’t shake him off, he tugged him towards the door. With a final glance of gratitude mixed with determination sent over his shoulder at Toby, the Deputy Chief of Staff herded his best friend into the Communications bullpen and out of sight.

Toby sighed wearily, the weight of this new truth pressing down on him. Squaring his shoulders, he moved to his desk and picked up the phone.

“Agent Butterfield?” he said. “This is Toby Ziegler. I need your help.”

END


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman's back . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a one-shot, but I got so many requests over on ff.net to continue, so I wrote this little blurb.

PART 2

There was something familiar about that guy.

Toby tried not to stare. It was hard not to. Toby was  _ sure _ he had never seen the man before, but something about him kept drawing Toby’s eye.

Capitol Lounge wasn’t incredibly busy. Toby had agreed to CJ’s invite to grab a quick drink before heading home for that very reason. It was early in the week, so Toby knew he wouldn’t have to drink with the usual boisterous crowd that inevitably showed up on the weekends.

The man at the bar smiled faintly and nodded, tossing back the rest of his drink and passing his glass to the bartender for a refill.

Toby frowned. Who  _ was _ this guy?

“. . . and so I thought, ‘What the hell? Throwing our support behind religious extremists with a history of bombing opposing religion’s sites of worship is risky, but we haven’t enjoyed a really good scandal in a long time’.”

Toby turned to CJ, frowning. “What?”

CJ gave him a pointed look. “If you didn’t want to come here with me, you could have just said ‘no’.”

Toby grimaced slightly. “It’s not that,” he told her. He glanced at the man again, then turned back to CJ. “Have you seen that guy before?”

CJ followed his gaze with a small frown. “The guy at the bar?” she asked. “No, why? Have you?”

“No,” Toby replied. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I know him.”

The two watched the man knock back the rest of his drink and signal for another refill. A woman approached the bar near the man, calling for an order of drinks for her friends. The man smiled and turned his body to face her, giving Toby and CJ a better view of him.

The way the man smiled, his blue eyes twinkling, sent a jolt of realization through Toby. “Son of a bitch!”

CJ jerked her gaze back to Toby, eyes wide. “What?”

Toby was fumbling with his phone, messing up his passcode before finally unlocking it. He found the number he was looking for and pressed the call button. His eyes narrowed as he watched the man, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up.

“What’s going on?” CJ demanded.

Toby held up a finger as the call finally connected. “Hey. I need you to come to Capitol Lounge.” Pause. “Yes, now. Do I  _ sound _ like I’m not serious?” Another pause. “Look, it’ll take ten minutes, then you can go back to what you’re doing. But I need you down here right now.” He paused a final time, then ended the call and set his phone back down.

“Are you planning on letting me in on this top secret information, or should I just go and ask that guy what’s going on?” CJ asked, a small bite to her tone.

“Hopefully I’m wrong,” Toby told her. “I just don’t think I am.”

“Wrong about what?” CJ demanded, exasperated. 

“I think that guy might be Sam’s father,” Toby stated.

Surprise stole CJ’s words. She studied the man more carefully as he flirted with the woman at the bar, looking for any hints of their friend on his features.

“I . . . guess I can see it.” CJ turned back to Toby. “I didn’t know you’d met his father.”

“I haven’t.” Toby’s mind drifted several months back, to a memory of a black eye and medical report. To a conversation with the head of the president’s secret service detail that had  _ remained _ a conversation since Sam’s father had left that same day and hadn’t returned.

Until today.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” CJ stated. “You’re acting like the guy’s on the FBI's most wanted list or something.” She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip.

Toby said nothing.

CJ’s eyes narrowed over the rim of her glass. She set it down with a light  _ thunk _ . “What do you know that I don’t?”

Toby was saved from answering as the door near their table opened, sending them a gust of cold air from the winter chill outside. A familiar figure quickly closed the door, glancing around the room before locking onto Toby and CJ. He headed directly towards them.

“All right, I’m here,” Josh announced unnecessarily, pulling off his gloves and dropping them onto the table before claiming a chair. “What’s so important you had to drag me away from preparing for my meeting with Senator Burton?”

“Wait,” CJ cut in. “You called  _ Josh _ ? I thought you said it was  _ Sam _ ’s father. You didn’t call  _ Sam _ ?”

CJ’s words sent Josh straightening in his seat, his body rigid and expression cold. “ _ Norman _ ’s here?” he demanded, eyes searching the room.

“I think so,” Toby answered, nodding in the direction of the bar. Josh twisted around to look. “But I’ve never met him. You  _ have _ , which is why I needed you here.”

Anger flashed in Josh’s eyes as he stared at the man at the bar. “Yeah, that’s him. Wonder if Sam knows he’s in town?”

“Hey!” CJ poked Josh hard enough in the arm to get him to look at her. “Either you two explain just what the hell is going on over here, or I’ll go over  _ there _ and ask Sam’s dad!”

Toby did  _ not  _ like the sudden gleam that appeared in Josh’s eyes. “Josh. No.”

Josh ignored him. “You know, CJ, that’s a great idea.”

“No, it isn’t,” Toby immediately countered. “It’s a terrible idea.”

Josh was already rising to his feet. “I’m gonna go ask him. You coming?”

“Josh, sit down,” Toby ordered.

Josh turned and made his way towards the bar.

“Josh!  _ Josh _ ! Dammit!” Toby stood. “This is  _ not _ how I wanted to spend my evening.”

Sensing answers were  _ finally _ coming, CJ didn’t respond as she joined Toby, walking quickly to the bar.

“. . . back in town,” Josh was saying.

Sam’s father nodded. “Yeah, got in about an hour or so ago,” he said. “I texted Sam as soon as I touched down. He said he’d meet me here as soon as he finished wrapping up what he was working on. I’m expecting him any minute now, actually.”

“Well, you might have wasted a trip,” Josh stated. “Sam just got handed a major speech due next week. I doubt he’ll have a lot of time for you.”

“He’ll make the time,” Sam’s father replied confidently. His eyes slid past Josh, landing on Toby and CJ.

Josh shifted slightly, glancing at his colleagues. “Where are my manners? Norman Seaborn, meet CJ Cregg and Toby Ziegler.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Norman said, smiling as he shook CJ’s hand. His grip lingered slightly longer than Toby was comfortable with, so Toby extended his hand.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he stated.

Norman accepted the hand, recognition flashing across his face. “Toby? I’ve heard a lot about you. My son thinks very highly of you.”

This wasn’t news to Toby, but it never failed to humble him each time he heard it. “Thank you,” he said. “Sam is one of the best writers I’ve had the pleasure of working with.”

Something that looked awfully close to disdain flickered in Norman’s eyes. “Yes, well, I would hope so,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “I’d hate to think he left a promising career in law to simply be mediocre elsewhere.”

Toby’s eyes narrowed slightly. Beside him, CJ blinked in surprise.

Norman either didn’t notice their reactions, or didn’t care. He signaled the bartender for yet another refill.

“Another drink?” Josh observed, his tone sharp to Toby’s ears. “Maybe you should take it easy. Wouldn’t want you to have any  _ accidents _ , later, right?”

Norman laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This guy,” he said to Toby and CJ, gesturing at Josh. “He seems to think I’m clumsy after a couple of beers.”

“Well, you  _ are _ Sam’s father,” CJ joked, sensing the tension in the air and still unsure as to the cause. “He’s clumsy enough when he’s sober.”

Norman’s responding laugh was a touch warmer. “Touché.” He lifted his newly-filled glass to CJ in salute, then took a healthy drink. “ _ I _ , however, am  _ much _ steadier on my feet, drunk  _ or _ sober.”

“It’s not your  _ feet _ I’m worried about,” Josh muttered.

Norman’s expression darkened, and Toby immediately knew a line had been crossed. Before anyone could utter another word, a new voice broke over them.

“What’s going on?”

Four pairs of eyes turned and found Sam standing several feet away, watching the scene with a look of confusion tinged with suspicion on his face.

“Sam!” Josh greeted warmly. “Hey! Look who we ran into!”

Sam wasn’t fooled by Josh’s tone. He stepped closer to the small group. “What are you talking about?”

“Just introducing your dad to Toby and CJ,” Josh replied easily. “We couldn’t believe it when we saw him sitting here. Small world, huh?”

“Smaller than I thought, since the last  _ I _ knew, you were planning to be locked away in your office back in the West Wing for the next few hours and not  _ here _ ,” Sam stated.

Norman finished the last of his drink and stood. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting with all of you, but Sam and I need to be going.”

Toby was suddenly struck with the urge not to let Sam out of his sight. Josh must have been too, because he said, “Why don’t you two join us for dinner?”

Sam shot Josh a warning look. Norman, busy with his coat and scarf, missed the byplay.

“Let’s take a rain check,” the older man replied. “If you don’t mind, I’d like Sam to myself tonight to catch up.”

“Of course,” CJ interjected. “It was nice to meet you.”

Toby caught his deputy’s eye and jerked his head to one side. “Sam? A word?”

The invitation was intended for Sam alone, but Josh decided to tag along as they moved several feet away. CJ, still in the dark about their concern but savvy enough to know when a distraction was needed, asked Norman about his visit to DC. Toby made a mental note to thank her later.

The second they were far enough away, Josh rounded on his friend. “Sam, you can _ not _ go with him.”

Equal parts confusion and exasperation filled Sam’s expression. “He’s my  _ dad _ , Josh, not a serial murderer. I think I’ll be okay.”

“No, you won’t,” Josh replied. “Sam, do we  _ really _ need to go over this  _ again _ ?”

Sam’s face and body language told Toby that the younger man was beginning to close off. He glared at Josh in irritation.

“Josh, the last I checked, you weren’t invited to this conversation,” he said flatly. “How about letting someone  _ else _ speak for a change?”

Josh waved a hand at Toby, who took the gesture as a concession. Toby turned to Sam, who was frowning.

“Look, Sam,” he began. “You’re an adult. If you want to leave with your father, _ who has a history of injuring you _ , then we can’t stop you.”

Josh’s expression clearly displayed his disagreement, but a sharp warning look from Toby stopped a verbal protest in its tracks.

“It’s not like that,” Sam insisted.

Toby held up a hand, stopping the argument brewing. “It  _ is _ like that, whether you agree with it or not. My  _ point _ is, when he hurts you again- and I  _ do _ mean ‘when’- you get away and you call me immediately.”

“Toby-,” Sam argued.

“It’s either that, or I call Ron Butterfield right now and get him to post a couple agents at your apartment until your father leaves town,” Toby stated.

Sam bristled. “You can’t do that!”

Toby simply met Sam’s outraged gaze until Sam wilted.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Are we done?”

Toby nodded. “We’re done.”

Sam had barely moved out of earshot, heading for his father and CJ, when the pressure cooker that was Josh Lyman’s temper finally exploded.

“You can’t  _ possibly _ think letting Sam go with his father is a  _ good idea _ !” he ranted. “Have you forgotten what happened the  _ last _ time Norman was in town?”

Toby glared at him, not intimidated in the slightest. “No,” he said slowly. “I  _ also _ haven’t forgotten the last time someone tried to force Sam into doing something he was strongly opposed to. Or have  _ you _ forgotten the president’s message he wrote in support of Leo?”

The comment took some of the wind out of Josh’s sails, but not much. “I don’t like this.”

“You think  _ I _ do?” Toby replied, watching as Sam and Norman headed out of the bar. “You know what Sam’s like. Even Ron said it; unless his father assaults him in front of witnesses or Sam agrees to press charges, our hands are tied. This has to be Sam’s call. Let’s at least make sure he feels comfortable calling us when he needs help instead of hiding the evidence.”

CJ joined them, her steely gaze moving between the two of them. “All right,” she announced. “I don’t know what the hell just happened here, but you two are buying me my next drink and explaining why you’re acting so weird.”

Josh and Toby exchanged looks.

“I’m buying,” Toby stated. “ _ You’re _ talking.”

“But Burton-,” Josh began.

“Should’ve thought of that before confronting Sam’s father,” Toby replied.

CJ hooked a hand around their arms and steered them back to their table. “My patience is running out, boys,” she said. “Spill. Now.”

~*~*~

Toby groaned and blinked wearily at the clock beside his bed, his eyes tracing the red numbers while his mind tried to figure out why he was awake at such an ungodly hour. The ringing of a phone broke through the fog of confusion and he reached out, fumbling blindly before finding his phone and answering. “‘Lo?”

There was a moment of hesitation, then, “Toby?”

Sam’s voice woke Toby the rest of the way up. He sat up in his bed, instantly alert. “Sam?”

“I got away,” Sam stated. Something was off about his voice. “You said . . .”

Alarm sent Toby’s heart racing as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. “Sam? Sam what’s going on?”

“You said to get away,” Sam said again. A horn blared through their connection, drowning out part of Sam’s stilted speech. “. . . mean to. But he was so angry . . .”

Toby’s concerned frown deepened. “Sam, where are you?” he demanded. “Are you hurt?”

“My head hurts,” Sam said plaintively. “And my face. There’s blood too.”

Toby stood, hunting for the clothes he’d stripped out of when he had gotten home earlier and tugging on his pants. “Sam, where are you right now? Do you know where you are?”

“I got away,” Sam repeated. “Toby, I’m so cold.”

Toby pulled on a sweatshirt over his t-shirt. “Are you outside?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered quietly.

Toby hurried through his apartment, collecting his car keys and wallet, then slipping his feet into his shoes. “Sam, look around. What do you see?”

“Cars,” Sam answered.

“Okay,” Toby said, drawing on every iota of patience he had. He paused at the door to his apartment. “What  _ else _ do you see?”

“Um . . .” Toby could practically  _ see _ Sam turning in place wherever he was. “Buildings. Trees.” 

Toby racked his brain, trying to remember what was around Sam’s apartment when Sam continued. “BP . . .”

“Sam, go into the BP,” Toby ordered, opening his door and heading down the hall. “I’m on my way to you right now.”

“Okay,” Sam said.

Sam’s behavior was too off-kilter for Toby to leave it at that. “Sam, listen to me,” he ordered. “Go into the gas station and  _ stay there _ . Do not leave. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay Toby.” The call abruptly ended.

Toby immediately pulled up another number on his phone as he slid into the driver’s seat of his car. By the time he had started his car and pulled onto the street, he heard the half-asleep murmurings from the other end of the line.

“Josh!” Toby barked. “Wake up! Sam’s hurt; he’s at the BP down the street from his apartment. I’m on my way now. Meet us there.”

Without waiting for an answer, Toby hung up and quickly dialed the next number.

“Agent Butterfield, it’s Toby Ziegler,” Toby announced. “That situation we discussed a few months ago? It just got worse.”

~*~*~

The pounding on the door jolted Norman out of a sound sleep. Norman glanced around in confusion, his brain taking several moments to remember where he was before the pain of a newly-won hangover took over. He groaned as the person at the door pounded again, creating an echo of agony inside his skull.

“Sam!” Norman called, squinting at his watch and finding it still too early to be awake. “Sam! The door!”

The only reply he received was increased pounding from the door. With another groan, Norman pushed himself off of his son’s living room couch and stumbled to the door.

A tall, slender man with a no-nonsense expression on his face stood on the other side with two police officers. Sharp eyes scanned Norman from head to foot in seconds.

“Norman Seaborn?” he asked. “My name is Agent Ron Butterfield, and I’m with the Secret Service.”

“Um . . .” Norman glanced behind him, then squinted at Butterfield. “I don’t . . . I don’t think Sam is here.”

“We’re not here for Sam,” Butterfield stated. “We’re here for  _ you _ .”

Norman blinked at him, the words not quite sinking in. The two police officers moved forward at Butterfield’s nod, taking hold of Norman to put him in handcuffs.

“Wait!” Norman cried, trying and failing to pull free. “What are you doing?”

“Mr. Seaborn, you’re under arrest for the assault of Sam Seaborn,” one of the police officers stated. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be-.”

“Hold on!” Norman snapped, the handcuffs securing his wrists behind his back. “What are you talking about? Assault? Sam’s fine!”

“No, Mr. Seaborn, Sam is not ‘fine’,” Butterfield told him. “Sam is in the hospital under observation from a serious concussion you gave him when you hit him last night.”

“Hit him?” Norman echoed, incredulous. “That’s ridiculous! I didn’t  _ hit _ my son!”

“Then how do you explain the bruise on top of a fractured cheekbone?” Butterfield asked.

“Sam’s a klutz!” Norman cried. “I can’t help it if he trips over his own two feet! If he’s been telling you I  _ hit _ him-.”

“He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Butterfield cut him off. “From the injury to his face and the laceration on the back of his head, it isn’t hard to figure out. Between that and the medical report from when you were last in town, I have more than enough to bring you in.”

Together, the officers each took an arm and herded Norman out of the apartment and down the hall.

“This is outrageous!” Norman thundered. “You can’t do this! I never touched my son!”

“That’ll be for a court to decide,” Butterfield stated blandly. “In the meantime, I suggest you sober up. It’s going to be a long morning; Sam’s one of us, and we look after our own.”

Norman continued ranting and raving all the way down the hall, not even stopping as he was placed in the back of a squad car. Butterfield closed the door in Norman’s face with a savage sense of satisfaction. As he headed for his own car, intending to follow the officers to the local precinct, Butterfield pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

“Toby?” he said, climbing behind the wheel of his car. “We got him.”

* * *

END 


End file.
